


Only You

by Sparcina



Series: The Sexy Ships of Star Trek [4]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: A Pinch of Angst, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, And Christopher is made aware of all this, Fluff and Humor, Insecurity, Jim has a thing for grey hair, Kissing, M/M, Masturbation, Phone Sex, Possessive Jim, Protective Christopher, Sort Of, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, and a commanding voice, fantasies, very quickly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-27
Updated: 2019-02-27
Packaged: 2019-11-06 08:17:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17936159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sparcina/pseuds/Sparcina
Summary: The necessary M-rated Christopher Pike/Jim Kirk Soulmate AU.“You all right, son?”Jim felt like he’d been hit, but from the inside-out, this time. Disregarding the pain, he twisted his head around to look at the person responsible for his unexpected respite.It was a man all right, and older than him by at least twenty years, with streaks of grey in his hair and concern brimming in his eyes. He was a Starfleet officer; the decorated grey uniform was a dead giveaway.Jim’s first thought was:I must have been hit harder than I thought.His second thought had nothing to do with the first at all:Holy shit my bondmate actually is a handsome officer.And the third, well, it was pretty much an extension of the second:I totally wasted my chance at a good first impression, damn it.He said the first thing that came to mind after that, confident that it would match the Words he hadn’t seen yet.“You can whistle really loud, you know that?”





	Only You

**Author's Note:**

> Apparently, I didn't want to work today. Enjoy!
> 
> This fic was brought to your by that [gif](https://thumbs.gfycat.com/PracticalTimelyDiplodocus-small.gif).

_You all right, son?_

Even knowing that he couldn’t be bonded to his own father, Jim had spent a good part of his childhood thinking that George Kirk was his soulmate. After all, who else would ever get to call him ‘son’? Certainly not his stepfather, if only because the words didn’t match. For a while, Jim had been so fucking grateful that he’d just accepted the fact that Frank needed an eight-year-old, Jim-shaped outlet for his frustration. Hell, if Frank had uttered those precious words the first time they’d met instead of ‘Get out of the way’, Jim would have stayed in the fucker’s car as he’d driven it off a cliff.

_You all right, son?_

Strange Bond Words, but they fitted Jim and his strange ways to a T. Everybody in Riverside and their extended offworld families knew that he was a charmer with self-destructive tendencies (and nobody except a few officials knew that his dangerous mood swings stemmed in part from years spent on a remote planet half-starving to death because of a madman). He considered himself lucky that he had good looks and quick wits, and if he purposely concealed his brilliance by getting into as many fights as possible for the stupidest reasons known to man, that was no one's business but his own.

It was therefore not unusual that he entered that random bar looking for a brawl on that fateful night.

Faithful to the persona he’d spent years perfecting, he chatted up the cute girl with delicious chocolate skin, and when it became clear that she was somehow immune to his charms (shocking!), he ordered his favorite drink and sipped it slowly, savoring the fire painting his throat on the way down. As usual, he was wearing long sleeves. As someone who loved to be in the spotlight, it would have made sense for him to flash his Bond Words to the world, but those block letters penned by a steady hand, the only gorgeous feature on his right forearm amidst all the scars he’d gathered in his childhood, was the most precious thing he would ever have, and he would be damned if he let anyone sully that treasure with their gaze. Besides, Jim was wont to do anything that would reflect badly on his bondmate, and he was hellbent on giving at least one good first impression in his life.

_You all right, son?_

He’d figured in his early teens that his bondmate would be older than him. To this day, he still couldn’t say if his daddy kink stemmed from that knowledge or the other way around, but it didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. He was twenty-five years old and could bang whomever the fuck he wanted… That is, he would, if he hadn’t grown tired of sleeping around a couple years ago. He wanted to go to bed with his bondmate, and only him (he’d decided he was bonded to another man pretty early on, too, given that women didn’t really speak like that).

The problem was, he was twenty-five but not a day more patient, or less needy, than he’d been back at fourteen, when he first started throwing himself at people for self-gratification through sex. He therefore did the only Jim-reasonable thing and hit on that pretty leggy thing again. He may or may not have pushed the issue in order to draw the girl’s friends’ attention, and in the end, he found himself facing four guys, all bulkier than himself.

He smiled. Jim Kirk always smiled at the onset of a fight. He was still feeling enthusiastic as hell when a powerful punch sent him sprawling back in the bar, and a boot kicked him in the shins, sending him to the ground. Being outmatched was nothing new; hell, that was his default setting in a fight and he actually welcomed the pain in his face as a fist connected with his nose, welcomed the salty taste of blood on his tongue. He probably should stop calling names by then, but the need to fight, primal and urgent, kept the fury alive. He spit blood in one of his opponent’s face, saw a meaty hand coming out of the corner of his right eye and offered a last-second parry that was just a tad too weak. A knee found his belly, pressed hard inwards. A grunt escaped him, pain encapsulated, as meaty fingers dug into his throat. Kodos had been fond of breath play too, Jim thought in a daze, smiling like an idiot. When you worked so hard to pretend you were stupid, you began to act like you were nothing else, nothing better…

A shout cut through the air; a man’s voice, laced with anger and the kind of authority that came with a lifetime of being obeyed. The pressure on Jim’s throat eased. He rubbed at it as the ceiling resumed its boring existence over him.

“You all right, son?”

Jim felt like he’d been hit, but from the inside-out, this time. Disregarding the pain, he twisted his head around to look at the person responsible for his unexpected respite.

It was a man all right, and older than him by at least twenty years, with streaks of grey in his hair and concern brimming in his eyes. He was a Starfleet officer; the decorated grey uniform was a dead giveaway.

Jim’s first thought was: _I must have been hit harder than I thought._

His second thought had nothing to do with the first at all: _Holy shit my bondmate actually is a handsome officer._

And the third, well, it was pretty much an extension of the second: _I totally wasted my chance at a good first impression, damn it._

He said the first thing that came to mind after that, confident that it would match the Words he hadn’t seen yet.

“You can whistle really loud, you know that?”

He had his eyes on the older man’s face the whole time, so he missed nothing of the complicated shift of emotions flickering over it in patterns too brief to comprehend for the stranger that he still was at that point. When the officer’s expression settled at last, it was in an expression of indifference that had so many cracks it was hardly a mask at all. Jim couldn’t tell if it was regret or pain that won at the end, couldn’t tell which precise hint of contained darkness tightened the fine lines at the corner of those bright eyes, but it made the man look older.

It made Jim want to apologize, pull him into his arms and kiss him within an inch of his life, in no particular order whatsoever.

Unfortunately, all that remained theory as the officer spun on his heels and left the room in the most dignified retreat Jim had ever seen.

“W-Wait!”

Jim felt like his head was going to fall off his neck, but he would be damned if he let his bondmate slip through his fingers after they’d barely exchanged their Words. In spite of the headache he could sense pounding beneath his temples and an overwhelming sense of dizziness, he could guess at what was going on in the older man’s mind.

Younger. Too young, maybe. A brawler. An idiot.

A complete mess.

But the bond should encourage the older man to stay close, to speak to him, comfort him as his soulmate lay there, hurt and so desperately aching for the kind of contact he’d been denied for twenty-five years. Jim stumbled, narrowly avoided tripping over his own feet, bumped in a chair and half fell against a wall, fingers seeking purchase. He knew a thing or two about stubbornness and he wouldn’t let fear or doubts drive him and his bondmate apart before they even got to know each other.

With an obvious lack of confident verticality, he dragged his sorry ass out of the door. He would hunt down that sexy grey fox if it was the last thing he did before passing out, he swore to himself, and no one, no one, would keep him from finding-

“You’re going to keel over.” The voice he’d instantly liked the first time around rose from somewhere to his right. Then, closer: “Sit down.”

“Only if you… stay,” Jim panted, and proceeded to sink down anyway to the ground in a tangle of bruised limbs.

His bondmate crouched down beside him. Jim drank him in like a he was dying of thirst, and his nervousness abated some when it became apparent that he was not the only one doing the watching.

“I’m Jim Kirk, your bondmate,” he blurted out, always one for stating the obvious when faced with intense silence and handsome men with blue eyes the color of sapphires in the moonlight.

“Christopher Pike.”

The voice was firm, with just a hint of disbelief. The pressure of that callused hand in his own felt like the home Frank’s house had never been. Jim may or may not have let out a strangled gasp when Christopher’s fingertips briefly lingered against his before breaking contact.

“You’re Starfleet,” Jim said, apparently on a roll on the State-the-Obvious road. “In a commanding… position. Obvious even without…” He gestured weakly, and very vaguely.

Brow pinched in concern, Christopher handed him a clean handkerchief. Jim held on to it as if it was a rare artefact from centuries past, which was actually close to the truth, in this time and age.

“For your nose.” The amusement in that deep voice was unmistakable.

Jim didn’t try and fight the blush; with the state his face was in, it wouldn’t make much a difference anyway. “Thanks. ’s a shame, though, it’s all white and pretty.”

“You need it.”

“I need _you_ ,” Jim replied, a visceral answer to the need vibrating at the very edge of his skin.

With a soft sigh, Christopher sat down beside Jim, apparently not caring if he got his pristine uniform all crinkled and dirty. Jim leaned against the brick wall before the urge to beg for his soulmate’s arms became unbearable.

“You are not… what I expected.”

“A little too reckless?” Jim prompted with feigned lightness.

“I already suspected as much.”

Christopher’s lips twitched. Jim arched a brow, and even the pull of so little a muscle hurt.  

“What else did you suspect?”

Christopher didn’t reply. Jim tried to find a more comfortable position and quickly discovered that it was a lost cause. He adjusted the handkerchief in his nostrils, feeling a little foolish. First impressions sucked. Expect Christopher’s, obviously, who had made _quite_ the impression on him; the only reason Jim hadn’t sprouted a boner yet was probably because his blood had been rerouted elsewhere, like his nose, and shame was a pretty good mood killer.

“I knew you would be older, and to be honest, I kind of like the grey. A lot. “He knew he was babbling, but the bewilderment etched on his soulmate’s deliciously older face was apparently an invitation to let his mouth run. “Can I call you daddy?”

It took every ounce of what little self-control he had left (or possessed at all) not to laugh at the shocked expression that question earned him.

“I… don’t believe it would be appropriate.”

“Because you don’t find it arousing or because you don’t think I want you to fuck me until I can’t walk straight, _Sir_?”

The urge to laugh deserted Jim at once: Christopher had bitten down his lip, oh so briefly, and a hint of something dark that had nothing to do with regret or doubts, something like heat and desire, flashed in his eyes. Jim’s cock hardened so fast it was almost painful. And when Christopher’s eyes traveled down to take in his new state… Well, Jim was beginning to think that those people claiming that a man could come untouched might be on to something, just as much as those pretending that soulmates could read each other very, very well.  

“You already can’t walk straight,” Christopher said, voice the tiniest bit unsteady. “I would have thought you’ve had enough excitement for one night.”

“You don’t know me well enough to underestimate me like that,” Jim bantered back, heart pounding and throat dry. God, they were so close, if he could just- “But that’s all right. After all, we have much catching up to do, don’t we, Christopher?”

The older man tensed but didn’t move away when Jim reached for his arm in a gesture as old as the world itself. With trembling hands, careful, reverent, Jim pushed the right sleeve of Christopher’s top up, exposing his Bond Words one letter at a time.

_You can whistle really loud, you know that?_

Stretching from elbow to wrist, his impatient scribbling almost resembled a scar, black and hurried against the pure whiteness of the skin around it, the perfection of an unmarred canvas. Jim brushed a thumb over each word in turn, marveling at the way soft hair stood up. The tension in Christopher’s body seemed to flow right through that point of contact between their bodies, and Jim felt it shift to fuel his arousal. The way Christopher seemed to lean every so slightly into his touch, as if requesting _more_ , untangled more than one knot in his belly. With every passing second of closeness and acceptance, the pain from his beating receded.

“How did you manage to go through your life without me?” he asked, suddenly acutely aware of their age difference from a brand-new perspective. “I don’t mean it in a self-centered way, even though I am self-centered at times, it-”

“I know exactly what you mean, son- Jim.”

Jim smiled inwardly as the way Christopher hesitated at the end. Well, well, well…

“I have high hopes for us, Chris,” he said, daring to kiss the Words. The skin felt soft and warm, and Jim wanted more, all of it. Everything. “Can I call you Chris?”

“You will probably do so no matter what I say.”

Jim smiled brightly. He felt drunk in a way that had nothing to do with alcohol, and everything to do with the gravely tone of Christoper’s voice, and the heat where their hips touched, suddenly.  

“If you truly mean that, I think I will-”

Christopher’s mouth was on his so fast Jim had barely time to blink. Once his brain caught up with the rest of his body, including the warm hand cradling the back of his head, he reached for his soulmate’s shoulders and moaned into the kiss he hadn’t dared initiate, needy and wanton and _fuck_ , who cared, they were fated to desire, to yearn for each other’s touch, so he parted his lips at the first hint of a tongue, sampled that spicy, minty taste that was all Christopher. The pain was well and truly gone by the time he was kneeling and inviting himself onto his soulmate’s lap, by the time nails scrapped the sensitive flesh of his nape as he roughly sucked on a clever tongue. He could still taste vodka and he wanted _Chris_ in his mouth, wanted to tug and bite his lip, ached to stuff his face with the cock he could sense hardening against his belly, fantasized about his bondmate’s cum dripping down his face and teasing his tongue-

The kiss ended as abruptly as it’d started.

“That was only to shut you up, so don’t get ideas just yet.”

Jim blinked twice. Whined a little. Christopher’s smile lit up his entire face… a gorgeous, honest smile that was only for Jim, no question asked.

“Chris…”

Jim let the name roll off his tongue like the promise it was. He felt love swell in his chest and he let it expand until he was sure he would drown in it, and what a glorious death it would be.

“Up you go.”

Jim let his bondmate help him to his feet, and proceeded to bury his face in the crook of his neck behind the collar of his uniform, inhaling deeply. Fuck, he smelled as good as he tasted. “I could die right now,” he murmured happily.

“Please don’t,” Christopher replied drily. “I’ve waited too long for you.”

“You romantic,” Jim purred. Then he bit down the sweet-scented skin of Christopher’s throat and growled low in his throat as his bondmate let out a startled gasp.

“Jim…” Christopher gently pushed him away and tilted his chin upwards, searching his eyes. “What were you doing in that bar, truly?”

“Being stupid.”

“I need something more than that.”

For the first time in his life, Jim found himself putting a lifetime of anger and doubts into words. He told Christopher of his father, of Frank, of Tarsus IV and its Governor, of too many fights and too few dreams. And Christopher linked their hands and listened, not interrupting him once even if Jim could sense him grind his teeth and bit back a few curses now and then. It felt so good to be cared for. To mean something to the one person who meant the world to him.

“Have you consider enrolling in Starfleet?”

Jim didn’t burst out laughing, which he might have done if anyone else had made the suggestion. Coming from Christopher… It actually sounded appealing. He would be lying if he said he’d never thought about it. There were so many rules, though, and Jim had never been one for rules he didn’t make them himself.

But Christopher was part of Starfleet’s brass, and being bonded to him might make the whole hierarchy bullshit actually bearable… and besides, surely his punishment for breaking a few rules wouldn’t be so harsh? Actually, Jim mused with renewed arousal, he wouldn’t mind being put in his place _at all_ if Christopher was the one punishing him.

_Are you going to spank me for misbehaving, Sir?_

His face must have clued his bondmate on what was going on in his head, because Christopher’s eyes flashed in warning. His nostrils flared, though, and his tongue peeked out briefly, so Jim considered it a win. “Don’t even think about it.”

“What? I think it’s an interesting idea,” he said lightly, purposefully unclear as to what, exactly, that idea was. “I’ll consider it.”

“Good.”

For all the dirty, breathtaking kisses Jim had received in his life, he was absolutely floored by the soft kiss Christopher dropped at the corner of his lips. A gentle hand moved his own away, pulling the soiled handkerchief from his nose, twisting it around and moving it back right under his nostrils to wipe more blood.  

“Where are you staying? And no, ‘your bed’ is not an option, Jim.”

Jim was pretty sure that was all he would think about anyway for the rest of the night.

*

Christopher Pike, Jim discovered through not even remotely legal channels, was the future captain of the soon-to-be flagship Enterprise. It wasn’t hard at all to picture him in the captain seat, not exactly slouching (because Christopher didn’t strike Jim as the kind who indulged in slouching, even under the direst of circumstances), but nonetheless sitting with his legs slightly apart, enough for Jim to kneel between them in full view of the bridge crew and show every officer on duty just how much the new cadet could _respect_ the captain.  

Jim thumbed his slit, stifling a moan. With his free hand, he punched a number on his phone.

“Pike.”

Oh _fuck_. Just that simple word, curt, full of authority, caused Jim’s breath to hitch. He squeezed the base of his erection, unwilling to come just yet.

“Hi Chris, it’s Jim.”

There was a muffled sound on the other end.

“Jim,” Christopher said, voice infinitely softer, and colored in worry. “Are you all right?”

“Yes.” _Fuck_ yes. “I just… Just wanted to hear your voice.”

Christopher didn’t need to know what Jim was doing during the actual hearing. After all, Starfleet was all about the need-to-know basis.

“How did you get my number?”

Jim bit back his instinctive reply, _because I’m clever as fuck, and all yours_ , and the second one that occurred to him, _because I want you to bend me over a desk somewhere and fuck me senseless_ , opting instead for something approaching the realm of polite conversation. “I’m good with computers.”

“I bet you are,” Christopher growled.

 _That_ particular intonation made Jim’s cock throb. He was so close already, and his soulmate, his future captain, _his Chris_ , had barely spoken yet.

“I’m…” _Good at giving head, too. Just thought you should know. Aaaaand I’m flexible enough to get under your desk to help you relax, daddy-_ “Ok, so I accept your _ah-_ offer.”

“You sure thought fast.”

The few seconds of silence that followed were tantamount to torture, considering that _keeping quiet_ and _jerking off_ weren’t things Jim usually associated with each other, but he did his best. And if part of him hoped Christopher would correctly interpret what was happening on his side…

“I’d say it’s impressive if it wasn’t a breach of privacy,” Christopher went on. “I’ve had a look at your file, by the way. Tried to squeeze as many fights as possible before you turned twenty-five, didn’t you?”

Was Jim imagining things or was Christopher’s voice a bit rougher now? Jim fisted his cock more forcefully, imagining a calloused hand in its stead, that hot mouth on his, devouring, claiming the wild card that was James Tiberius Kirk. _That’s it, Jim, touch yourself for me._

“There’s a shuttle tomorrow. It leaves at 800, so don’t be late, cadet,” Christopher said, voice a little unsteady.

Christopher _definitely_ knew what Jim was doing, and that should have been Jim’s ticket for a very satisfying climax. Instead, he let go of his cock, insecurity blooming in his chest. His grip on the phone tightened. _What if I’m late? Won’t you be waiting for me?_ the insecure voice in his head prompted. Fuck, he was just a walking bag of issues, wasn’t he? _You’re so pathetic_ , Frank’s voice snarled out of suppressed memories, echoed by Kodos’.

“I’ll be there,” he said as steadily as he could, torn between arousal and fear, and latching out on the anger that would tip the balance the way he wanted. “I swear,” he added a moment later, with renewed confidence.

“Good boy.”

He broke part at the seams in a violent rush of ecstasy, and he wasn’t even touching himself anymore. _Good boy_ : two words, rich with approval and nothing else, because Christopher wasn’t teasing Jim like Jim had so blatantly teased him tonight, but the praise was genuine nonetheless, searing hot as it coursed thorough his young body at lightning speed, cauterizing the last sharp edges of past wounds. He cried out his soulmate’s name as he climaxed, cock spurting cum all over his thighs and belly, back arching in surrender.

The silence on the line was probably of the shocked variety.

“Did you just-”

“I suppose I couldn’t help how-”

“I don’t want to know the details, Jim.” A soft sigh followed that order, and a strangled sound halfway between a curse and a moan. “You should sleep now. God knows you need all the rest you can get.”

“Yeah, melatonin’s great, but so are oxytocin and endorphins.”

To say that he was relieved to hear the older man burst out laughing would be an understatement.

“God, you’re something else, Jim.”

“Of course, I’m your soulmate,” Jim replied cheekily. “And you’re _mine_.”

He couldn’t keep the possessiveness out of his voice, but Christopher only seemed to find it endearing, if his chuckle and exasperated ‘Jim’ was anything to go by. Jim could work with endearing and exasperating. They were great starting points for ‘sexy’ and ‘irresistible’, and he would get there. Eventually. Thanks to a patience he would need to develop pronto.

“Jim?”

“Yeah?” Jim replied a little dazedly, tracing patterns on his belly with his cum.

“Sleep now.”

“Only if you stop working and go to bed as well, Chris,” Jim replied lazily, running a cum-stained finger on his lower lip.

The captain’s sharp intake of breath and that ‘ _Now_ , Jim’ uttered in a strangled voice, was well worth the sudden end to the conversation.

For the next twenty minutes, Jim lay on his back, eyes wide open, his right hand fisted around his phone. Elation and worry wared for his attention. He was pretty sure Christopher wouldn’t leave him now, no matter how he decided to shape his future, but he’d grown up convinced of one thing, and one thing only: uncertainty. His mother had told him she’d loved him and abandoned him anyway, Kodos had promised him security and almost killed him in the end, so Jim had no way, _no way_ to be sure he wouldn’t be served empty promises again, and he couldn’t bear it, not from his soulmate, but to feel so clingy, and behave accordingly, was even worse. He couldn't- wouldn't-

The pain was back in full force now, but he’d dealt with worse before, and often, too. He could deal with it. Ignore the worry, crush it before he made a mess again-

 _Breathe_.

They barely knew each other, sure, but the words were there. That had to be enough. _He_ had to be enough. 

_Just breathe._

One, two, three... One two three...

_You all right, son?_

Another twenty minutes and the beginning of a headache later, Jim finally relented and typed a short message. A reply hit his inbox almost instantly, and such promptness did a lot to ease his growing anxiety. As for the words themselves, well… A smile worked its way across his face.

 _Christopher (0:23)_ > I actually plan to pick you up. Stop thinking so much and get some rest. _Please_.

For the first time in many, many years, Jim fell asleep with a smile.

**Author's Note:**

> How could anyone resist [ this handsome officer](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/52/01/a0/5201a07b7f5f6c6ad8dfb3e388623590.jpg)?


End file.
